


Divided

by Retro_Hussy (betsybo)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Character Interpretation, Implied/Referenced Violence, Imprisonment, Intimidation, M/M, Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, Possessive Darth Vader, Rebel Firmus Piett, or rather explanation there's no extras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/pseuds/Retro_Hussy
Summary: Commander Piett of the Rebel Alliance and mentor to Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa is of little consequence to the Empire, and he’s all too willing to give himself up on Hoth so his friends can escape. But when he meets the man hunting Luke, he quickly begins to realise they might all be out of their depth.Set during ESB between the escape from Hoth and the ambush at Bespin. Piett distracts the Imps at Hoth, enabling Luke and the others to get away but gets captured in the process.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Darth Vader, Implied Firmus Piett/Darth Vader
Comments: 44
Kudos: 103





	1. Captive

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a bit of a weird one but it's an idea that bit so *shrugs* 
> 
> Bit of background for this AU: I can't imagine a loyal guy like Piett defecting from anywhere without a really really good reason, and at the moment I'm kind of imagining that in this he found the Rebels first or vice versa and so has always been with them.
> 
> There's no torture in this so may require suspension of disbelief, and there will be absolutely no non-con either but Vader is still... Vader so it's not really gonna be fluffy. In terms of violence while I'm still not completely decided what will be featured it shouldn't get too much worse than Star Wars OT violence if that makes any sense?
> 
> This definitely owes a lot to Neumhuire's C&C series and the relationship Luke and Piett share in that, although just to warn I don't know if we'll actually see them together in this fic yet. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything here.
> 
> Warnings may be unnecessary but just in case I've listed for violence which will be more background if it happens. Rating may also change.

Piett comes to upon a hard bench within in a small, grey cell. Gradually, through a haze of dizziness and light nausea he pushes himself into a sitting position and rests against the wall behind him. His clothes feel strange; the material too slippery somehow, and he lifts his trembling arms to peer at his sleeves. He realises he’s been changed into a thin, orange prisoner uniform – a shade not dissimilar from that of the flight suit they have removed from him. Bitterly, he thinks to himself that not many captives of the Empire live long enough to be dressed by them.

He makes an unsuccessful endeavour to stand, and only then does he realise there’s something on his leg. Startled, his hand snaps to his thigh and fumbles uselessly at something padded and square beneath the uniform. After some more thorough exploration he discovers it’s a bacta patch, over the place where a blast from one of the Stormtroopers had grazed and burned the skin before he was stunned. Piett fastens the uniform up again, and takes a really good look around the cell as he puzzles over his discovery. It seems odd that the Empire would want to heal him, but then maybe it’s just a matter of routine. It wouldn’t do for a prisoner to bleed out before they could be interrogated after all, but the wound’s hardly that serious. It’s barely aching now and is unlikely to scar thanks to the bacta. Perhaps they just want him completely lucid, uninhibited by pain until they begin administering it themselves?

He’s shaking. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself but doesn’t bother trying to stop the tremors. It could just be the leftover adrenalin from his quick departure at Hoth that’s causing them, or the slightly chilly temperature of the cell. Most likely it’s both along with a good deal of fear, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise. He isn’t a smart-mouth like Solo, and quite frankly he doesn’t have the energy to fake it. An attempt at negotiation would be fruitless anyway; he has nothing to bargain with and lacks any allies who might offer protection or even buy him some time. He’d rather go down fighting, but while he’s much tougher than he looks it’ll do him no good inside here. He’s better off reserving his energy. He remembers Leia describing her ‘processing’ on the Death Star, and while it should be a foolish thing to dwell on that right now, it’s actually calming to feel anger overtake his terror for a moment.

At the thought of Leia, he feels a great wave of trepidation. He’s confident that the _Falcon_ cleared Hoth’s system, but he’s still worried. Now that Solo is their known ally, it will be harder for them to travel the galaxy without being recognised. He can’t even pretend to dislike the smuggler anymore – not after the man’s latest actions.

He’s grateful, Piett realises. Grateful to Han for going after Luke, and for taking Leia to safety – he hopes – despite the man’s constant bellyaching about his need to leave them. He’s also relieved that he has no idea where any of them are – that no matter what they do to him here he’ll have nothing to tell. His captors will surely have guessed he wouldn’t let himself be captured if he knew too much about Luke, but it won’t matter. For him, it will surely be torture and death.

A few minutes later, Piett is startled out from his thoughts by the doors opening with an abrupt, loud hiss. A tall, dark figure sweeps in – somehow elegant despite the entryway being too low for him.

It’s Vader.

The moment he enters the temperature seems to drop several more degrees. The distant voice of a comm system echoing is cut off as the door drops shut behind him. He pauses there, watching Piett for a moment, only the sounds of his respirator audible for a moment.

Piett’s taken aback – he’d guessed Vader might wish to enact some revenge for the loss of Luke and the others, but he would have expected a droid or interrogation officer might begin the proceedings. His fingers grip the edge of the bench tight, but he keeps his spine straight and looks right back at him.

“Commander Firmus Piett,” says a deep, terrible voice processed through a vocoder. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance.”

Surprise colours Piett’s anger. Being a long-standing member of the Alliance means his face might be recognisable but the man should _not_ know his name. He’s only known to fellow rebels by a nickname, and how Vader became aware of his true identity he can’t imagine. Not only that but the man sounds more composed than Piett would have expected given today’s events, and it’s deeply unnerving. He says nothing.

Vader seems unperturbed by his silence. “I learned your name not long after Skywalker’s, but I have come to know your Force signature rather well over the years.”

Piett’s alarm is mounting rapidly, and the mention of the Force makes him think of Luke before he hastily stops while trying keeping his face straight.

The black mask glares down at him. “You have an able grasp on your emotions, Commander, though perhaps it is not as quick as you’d like.”

Inhaling as quietly as he can, Piett only blinks in response.

“You do not know where your friends are but that’s unimportant – you can still be of use to me.”

Piett stiffens, increasing his grip on the bench and remains silent. He’s heard enough about Vader to know he will get to the point when he wants to.

“There are those who would put your stunt on Hoth down to some blind devotion to the Rebel cause, but I know it’s something else that drives you. It was noble of you to sacrifice yourself. Did you have to lie to him, or did you simply not tell him your plan? I doubt Skywalker would have left knowing someone so important to him was in danger.”

Piett swallows. His voice sounds strange to his own ears when he replies, “We are not related.” He words might have sounded out of context to anyone else, but if Vader has already found out so much about him he must have picked up on the rumour that he was Luke’s father. It’s become a favourite joke throughout the Rebel Alliance, but he’d pulled Luke away from trouble often enough that strangers tend to be inclined to believe it.

“I am well aware,” says Vader wryly. “Nevertheless, you’ve come to see him as your own, and you’ve embraced each other as family.”

Fighting down a shudder, Piett tries to wrack his brains for any obvious candidate who might have told Vader all of this but comes up short. There have been many deaths and disappearances from their ranks over the last few years, as is to be expected, but there’s no one person he can think of who could have known so much.

“Skywalker did not realise the power that lies behind a name, but you did. And like any anxious parent you rushed to correct his blunder. You were too late, and incidentally it was where your real name was revealed to me. It didn’t take me long to link it with the pilot who distracted me so expertly at Yavin.”

Piett feels his old frustration spike as he remembers the days immediately following the Death Star’s destruction. There was so much joy even amongst the grief, and they were all so impressed with this young man – their new hero. But Piett grew worried when he discovered just _how_ young Luke was, and he’d recalled the name Skywalker from long ago; a war hero of some kind. When he took Luke aside and the boy told him about his father, Piett’s apprehension only grew. Low and behold, three years later and Luke is now enemy number one to the Empire. A beacon of hope to many, and therefore the target of everyone else. He may believe himself gratified Vader has his name; the name of an old enemy come back to haunt him, but Piett regrets every day that they didn’t do more to stop it from surfacing. Running around like a madman warning everyone not to mention Luke’s name to any outsiders had been naïve and evidently careless, but he’d had to try. He wishes they’d all stopped for a moment to think – to consider that they might be putting their young hero in peril. Of course Leia quickly understood his concern. He can still see her smile falter, her brown eyes widening in the realisation he was truly afraid for Luke. Together they formed a plan to try and cap a potential leak before it started, but they were too late.

Still not answering, Piett continues to keep his hands fixed by his sides. His earlier relief at not knowing his friends whereabouts is ebbing away with the dread he might yet know information that will somehow lead Vader to them.

“You have done your best to protect and teach him with what feeble resources you have,” drawls Vader. “And yet that leads us to a curious fact – he is woefully undertrained in the ways of the Force.” He steps towards Piett, looming over him. “How can this be? Why wasn’t he trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Vader’s question is laced with anger, and Piett suppresses the urge to curl in on himself. “ – I never met Kenobi,” he states flatly, unable to help the way he braces himself to be grabbed or struck.

“Nor did Skywalker, practically,” Vader continues. “And yet he believes himself a _Jedi_.”

There’s still that disdain in his voice and Piett is frozen in apprehension – this is _surely_ Vader’s cue to punish or incapacitate him somehow. Instinctively his gaze travels around the small cell for any means of escape or something to defend himself with, and then he lowers it, already aware it’s hopeless.  
  


“Don’t waste time now, Commander.” Vader raises a hand, and it’s as though an invisible rope is around Piett’s chest as he’s jolted up onto his feet.

He feels more than a little light headed as he tries to steady himself, and briefly wonders if he was given something while he was unconscious. Frightened, he glances down at the weapon hanging on Vader’s belt, and banishes the idea almost immediately. Vader lowers his hand, releasing Piett to support his own weight, and then unhooks the cylinder from his belt. With a loud, piercing rush of noise and a burst of red light he ignites it.

Piett does his best to stand firm, but he flinches as Vader brings the glowing blade upright between them, close enough that Piett can feel its heat on his face.

“Of course,” Vader rumbles almost delicately. “You’d recognise a light sabre, wouldn’t you?”

Everything about him is illuminated and heightened by the glare of the sabre – it’s reflected across his helmet at different angles, and over the walls of the cell. Although they’re both on their feet now, Vader is still enormous – Piett has to crane his neck to keep staring him in the face, tears threatening to spill from the heat and the terror, but he _refuses_ to break eye contact.

“Tell me – how are Skywalker’s skills developing?”

Piett struggles yet again to shove all his thoughts away, but it’s impossible to stop the images flashing up he does so; he doesn’t know whether Vader is forcing them or manipulating his thoughts in some other way or if it’s just his own failure to control himself but _Luke tentatively willing a screwdriver into his hand as Solo rolls his eyes fondly... Luke training alone with a remote, and then with Leia throwing things to him and sometimes at him... Artoo rocking back and forth, trilling in excitement... Piett tearing through jungle to find Luke – blasting a Stormtrooper square between the eyes... Luke and Leia practicing sabre combat with metal poles, laughing together... Solo joining in...Solo telling an incensed Piett to stay put as he rides out into the blizzard to find Luke... Piett and Leia clinging to each other fiercely as they await news..._

“You were wise to dissuade him from seeking me out,” says Vader. “But in time he’ll come, and _I_ shall take over his training from there.”

The light sabre is extinguished. Their surroundings are again in monochrome. Piett looks at the floor, deeply disappointed in himself for revealing so much. He feels his resolve slipping as shame, fear and bewilderment clouds his mind. From the moment he learned that Vader killed Anakin Skywalker, he’d known he must keep him and Luke apart at all costs. But it’s never once occurred to him that Vader might seek to _train_ the son of a man he’d murdered. Unless he’s lying, but why would he? Does he plan to convince Piett he means no harm to Luke in the hope he’ll give him information? Surely not – Piett’s already a prisoner – Vader doesn’t _need_ to sweet talk him.

Is he failing Luke just by being here?

“Don’t be ashamed, Piett,” says Vader. “You cannot deny your feelings, and your concern on Skywalker’s behalf is most _touching_. No doubt he does not wish to lose another mentor.”

Piett shivers again. “He won’t come to you,” he says, but before all the words have even left his mouth there’s doubt bleeding in from the edges of his mind. Luke already has plenty of reasons to hate Vader, but he wills himself to believe the boy wouldn’t go against his advice now. He was _not_ _ready_ to face Vader. If he did, it will have all been in vain – if he were to get hurt...

Piett shuts his eyes and tries to focus, like he’s seen Luke do before attempting one of his Jedi tricks.

“He _will_ ,” says Vader fervently. “His fear will guide him.”

Piett shakes his head, opening his eyes. “He wouldn’t risk it.”

“And you suppose he’ll be willing to risk _you?”_ Vader tilts his head slightly, and Piett imagines he’s raising an eyebrow beneath the mask. He watches as the man turns to leave, and just before he reaches the door Vader turns and states, “You underestimate your worth, Piett.”

The door swishes open and Vader storms out, black cloak billowing after him.

Piett collapses back onto the bench, sweating and shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it guys! And that it's reasonably coherent? 
> 
> <3


	2. Bait

Piett spends a few minutes collecting himself after Vader’s departure.

Back in his X-Wing - expecting to be blasted out of the sky - he felt prepared. Even as the Star Destroyer reeled him in his terror was numbed - he felt like he knew what he was doing. But now, in wake of Vader’s parting words he feels a cold dread seeping into his previously fortified resolve. Vader was always going to screw with his mind somehow, but why does he suddenly feel as though he’s missed something vital?

Everything about his captor’s visit seemed off, and not just because of the threat. The way he’s pursuing Luke to ‘train’ him, while clearly every bit as obsessive as Piett feared, does not strike him as mindless. There must be some very specific reasoning behind his determination to find him, and although the thought does little to ease his concern, he’s glad of anything that might spare Luke and buy them some time. Regrettably, Vader is probably right about Luke coming to them should he discover Piett’s capture, but that doesn’t mean the boy will accept his teachings.

Piett frowns. That _must_ be why Vader’s keeping him alive – not just as bait – but to use as leverage every time Luke tries to resist him. If Vader’s successful the future could be a very bleak and drawn out affair indeed. _You underestimate your worth_. _You can still be of use to me._

Even Vader’s turn of phrase is bothering him now _._ Of use to _me,_ he said. Not to the Empire. Not to Palpatine.

Piett knew going in that Vader wasn’t some emotionless machine with no objective of his own, but he _had_ thought the man was steadfastly loyal to the Emperor. And yet there had been no mention of Palpatine – Vader wished to train Luke himself – something that would surely take a great deal of his time away from serving the Empire. Unless all of this _was_ being carried out on the Emperor’s orders? But why would it be? What could the Emperor want from Luke that he didn’t already have from Vader? Piett has no clue, but all of this implies to him that Vader is very much going after his own interests.

He focuses on what he knows. Vader may have found out who _he_ is but he definitely doesn’t know Luke’s whereabouts, so that’s something. He’s certain that Leia and the others are all right, because if Vader had caught or killed them he would have gloated about it, surely? And although he knows it’s stupid, he’s positive he feels the truth somewhere deep inside himself – they are _alive_. And then there’s Vader’s plan – whether or not he captures the _Falcon_ he intends to lure Luke to him using Piett. This means he’ll be kept alive for now, but that he can’t rule out torture. Piett feels rather sick again imagining it, but he knows there’s a chance it could present him with an opportunity. If Vader or a strictly programmed droid were to interrogate him the opportunity would be slim to the point of being practically non-existent; but if it was one of the officers or he was left alone for a few minutes... Piett considers it. He’s thin and agile; he once freed himself from restraints by tensing his wrists before he was tied, and he might be able to distract whoever was minding him by pretending to faint or cry, or even to give in and offer phony information.

The thought doesn’t really fill him with confidence, but he supposes that if he managed to get his hands on a pen or needle it could be a start.

With that in mind Piett finally stands again – only a little wobbly now – and looks around himself. The cell is of Imperial standard, and so Piett is familiar with the model from training exercises. Sadly, he also knows he’s unlikely to find any materials that might help an escape attempt. There’s really only the door, the bench, a small toilet and a sink. The bench runs along the length of the space on one side, parallel to the door. Piett can lie down on it with his legs straight but anyone much taller than six foot would be uncomfortable. He skims his hands over the walls, door and floor, feeling every edge and corner, looking for a bolt or loose panel; anything he might be able to prize loose and exploit somehow, but it all appears to be tightly secured. He turns his attention to the toilet and sink next, but as expected all the water is sensor operated, with the plumbing completely sealed off. Lastly he clambers up onto the bench and reaches what he can of the ceiling and lights in a final, useless examination.

Sighing, he climbs back down and rubs the crown of his head distractedly. He’s due a trim he remembers faintly; his hair’s starting to curl out untidily. His gaze drops to the floor. The shoes he’s been given are plain canvas with rubber soles, and of course they have no laces. His uniform offers nothing promising, either. The graze on his thigh twinges and he rubs it absentmindedly as he takes one last glance around.

It seems there is nothing to do but wait.

Some time goes by – around an hour he thinks – before the door opens again. An armed Stormtrooper enters, followed by a second who places a tray down beside Piett on the bench and then joins the other by the door.

“Eat,” barks the Stormtrooper holding the blaster rifle.

Piett raises an eyebrow but takes a look at the tray. There’s water and a simple but adequate meal of bread and fruit slices. He picks up the paper cup and takes a sip as he considers the situation. The tray is light and will be of little use against weapons or plastoid. The plate is also made of paper, and he knows the guards will expect it, the cup and the tray back.

He takes a bite of the fruit – it tastes just a little synthetic but it’s crunchy and he suddenly realises how hungry he is. The troopers are silent, and Piett occasionally glances over at the pair as he eats. The one to his right – who brought the tray – taps his thigh absentmindedly, close to where his own blaster sits in its holster. He’s impatient to leave – Piett guesses – but because of the tedium and not because he thinks their charge might be dangerous. The other trooper stands perfectly still, rifle still held in his arms although no longer aimed at Piett.

Depending on how long he’s kept here, Piett thinks he could sneak a paper cup or plate aside. They won’t provide much, but the paper might be thick enough to wedge into the runs of a door, or jam some other mechanism. If he just sits and eats his first few meals quietly, his guards might be amenable to a bit of casual conversation later on. Even if they prove aggressive, it might give him time to slip some paper away unnoticed.

Piett finishes his meal by washing everything down with the last of the water. He desperately wants a stiff drink but there will be fat chance of getting one here. He places the cup and plate on the tray, folding the latter in half before he does so. “Thank you,” he says.

The Stormtrooper on the left aims his rifle at Piett again as his partner retrieves the tray, and then they both exit, and leaving him alone once more.

Knowing this could be a long day he lies down on the bench, curling up for warmth.

Somehow he manages to fall asleep, and with sleep comes visions of fire and cries for help; a faceless individual in Rebel uniform strapped down and screaming in agony; Luke battling a dark figure and Leia running forwards, blaster aimed at Vader, his hand reaching towards her as the _Falcon_ explodes in the sky above them...

He’s startled awake by the loud hiss of the door, and rubs his eyes to help focus them. Vader stalks in, the door sealing shut behind him as Piett hurriedly forces himself up into a sitting position, shivering and colder than he was than when he fell asleep. Vader seems almost oblivious to him for a moment – pacing up and down in the limited space afforded him. Has something happened, Piett wonders?

“We are closing in on the _Millenium Falcon_ ,” Vader says finally, and Piett’s stomach drops about a foot. “Perhaps I’ll have a collection of friends to entice Skywalker before long.”

Piett inhales sharply, turning over the words in his mind. They _are_ alive this means; Han, Leia, Chewie and Threepio. Vader could be bluffing about catching up with them, although he does seem pleased with himself. While the mask gives nothing away, his body language is surprisingly animated. Piett eyes him, wondering who he is; if he would recognise the face beneath the mask or if Vader has always moved through society anonymously. There are many rumours about who or what he is, but as far as Piett knows there is no concrete evidence to support any of them. The suit is obviously a necessity but it’s unknown to what extent. No one’s ever gotten close to incapacitating him effectively – at least not any member of the Rebellion.

“I didn’t realise you’d find me so interesting, Commander.” As he speaks Vader halts his movements, and Piett averts his eyes. “Don’t stop now. My understanding you assisted in your capture, just as my understanding Skywalker will assist in his. Why don’t you continue your evaluation and see if you might better understand me?”

Anxious at being caught, Piett forgets himself for a moment and his body gives an involuntary shudder from the cold. Vader’s helmet gives one of those subtle tilts. Not wanting to appear weak, Piett keeps his attention on him. He sees a few more details instead of a solid mass of black now that he’s concentrating, such as the armour plating across the broad chest and the control unit and belt just beneath. His gaze skips over the codpiece quickly out of sheer awkwardness, and Vader tips his head slightly the other way as though – Piett could swear – he’s amused. The situation’s too hazardous for embarrassment but Piett quickly refocuses on the tabard framing the ensemble, and the boots just visible from under the hem. He takes a good look at the gauntlets covering Vader’s hands, and then lastly, up at the mask again.

“Well?” says Vader after a few beats. “Have you learned anything?”

“Wouldn’t telling you defeat the object?” asks Piett rather tiredly. He hasn’t drawn anything conclusive from his assessment and Vader damn well knows it.

“ _If_ you expected to be in a position to use the information against me.” Vader seems to lean a fraction closer. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Pity. Where is your rebel spirit?”

Piett just looks at him.

Vader gives a small nod as if accepting of his silence. “You applied to the Imperial Academy twice.”

Piett blinks. Evidently his attempts to destroy all his old files were not entirely successful.

“Both times you were rejected for being underage. That suggests you were not always so averse to the Empire.”

Shrugging, Piett replies, “It seemed to be the only option at the time.”

“But something else evidently got there before you could try again. You disappeared for a while, and then returned to Axxila to fight in the uprisings.”

Piett shuts all thought down, focusing instead on Vader’s chest unit.

To his relief, Vader takes a different course in the discussion. “Like Skywalker, you merely joined the ranks of those you encountered first.”

“Isn’t it the same way for most people?” asks Piett. He’s eager to keep the conversation off his homeworld but he’s also not about to exhaust himself defending his own loyalty to the Alliance.

“I’m not here to question your allegiances, Piett. I simply ask how you can be so sure of where your destiny lies?”

Destiny. The word sounds odd and unfamiliar to Piett. He’s always been driven in terms of his career and beliefs, but he thinks Vader might be speaking more literally. “I don’t suppose I’ve given it much thought.”

“You must. Fate works in mysterious ways. It brought you to Luke and in turn will bring you both to me.”

His words again strike Piett as an oddly possessive thing to say. After all, he’s only useful to Vader while he can be used to manipulate Luke. He has nothing else to offer, and besides he will never give _anything_ to a man who would hurt those he cares for.

Vader’s next question comes outs oddly gentle. “You are unfailingly loyal, Piett, but to _whom_ exactly?”

Piett folds his arms across his chest. He should have expected Vader might try this tact. “I’m quite certain that counts as questioning my allegiances, Vader.” It’s not entirely a slip up; addressing him by his name, but he expects a penalty for it.

Vader’s chin tilts up ever so slightly. “Funny. Your response would indicate to most that you’d taken offense, but you haven’t. I’m boring you.”

He’s not wrong, thinks Piett. What an odd thing – to find being questioned by Vader _dull_.

“Why is that, Commander?”

Piett searches for a response, feeling thrown off. “...Because you’re wasting your time. There isn’t anything I can give you. No information. Nothing.”

“I see. And what if this is about what I might offer _you?”_

Piett frowns. “Like what? You know I won’t spy for the Empire.”

“No. I have my own spies.”

For the first time, it appears to Piett as though Vader is stalling. He seems deep in thought, as though weighing up what he wants to say next. He wouldn’t go as far to say Vader looked uncertain, but the show of self-restraint is jarring.

Vader suddenly straightens up, perhaps annoyed at his hesitancy being witnessed. “I must go,” he says sharply, the door opening behind him as he whirls around to leave.

When he’s alone again Piett is left thoroughly confused, and more worried than ever about what Vader might know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thanks for all the responses guys! Hope this part didn't disappoint. I probably should have warned that a good deal of it takes place in Piett's cell so I hope it's not too dull!


	3. Transferred

The Stormtroopers return not long after Vader’s abrupt exit, and this time both of them aim their blasters at Piett. “Stand up,” the one on the right orders. “Hands behind your head.”

Piett does as he’s told.

“Turn around.”

Again, Piett obeys. His hands are grabbed and held by one trooper, and before he can ask what’s happening, everything goes dark as he’s blindfolded. Startled, Piett jerks back slightly as the cloth is wrapped over his entire face, and then his arms are pulled down in front of him before his wrists are cuffed.

“All right,” says the trooper after feeling the binders to make sure Piett can’t get out of them.

Piett is turned and then propelled forwards by a firm hand on his shoulder. He’s helped through the narrow door and then out into the corridor he’s only ever glimpsed. His heart’s thumping violently as he’s forced to continue walking blind. He tries to get as much oxygen through the fabric as he can. What’s happening, he thinks? Vader made it sound like he’d be kept alive but the blindfold puts him in mind of public execution. Has Vader changed his mind? Has Luke been caught already? Or is it Leia? If so Piett would have expected to be killed in his cell, but maybe his death will be used as something to rally the troops and raise morale while striking terror into the hearts of anyone who would go against the Empire. He tries not to let fear consume him; tries to focus on not tripping over, and keeps his head up high.

As they change direction there’s the sound of a door opening and suddenly Piett hears Vader’s respirator, instinctively turning his head turns towards the sound. He expects the man to taunt him, or give his guards some orders, but strangely no one says a word. The world seems to roll beneath his feet, and he’s actually grateful for the hand still gripping his shoulder as he realises they’re in an elevator – going up – he guesses. At that realisation, he tries to keep calm. He mustn’t forget himself, no matter how afraid he is. He should be doing everything he possibly can to keep track of where they’re going – whatever happens next – it could be his only hope for escape. After all, this may not be the end. Perhaps Vader intends to broadcast his torture in the hopes Luke will see it. If he wasn’t so afraid he’d be surprised it has taken Vader this long to get down to business.

Once the elevator arrives Piett senses Vader alight first, and then he’s pushed forwards again. Vader and the Stormtroopers walk fast; their strides are bigger than Piett’s and he’s already struggling from not being able to see where they’re going. Vader still says nothing; not to him or to the troopers. Twice more they halt to wait for an elevator, but Piett notices that they also seem to stop at random interludes for no discernable reason. When they pull to another of these stops for the fifth or sixth time, it hits him. They haven’t passed anyone else. He’s sure of it. He hasn’t heard any other footsteps; only distantly and Vader either waited for them to pass or marched in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t want them to be seen.

For that matter, thinks Piett in sudden disquiet, how many people actually _know_ he’s here – on Vader’s ship? He isn’t as important a catch as Luke, but Vader himself has identified their close relationship. Wherever Piett’s taken and whatever is done to him now, surely _someone_ else in the admiralty should be in the know? While he’s not exactly keen at the prospect of being grilled by a line up of the Imperial Admiralty's biggest and best, he’s not sure if he likes the idea of his handling being solely _Vader’s_ responsibility.

When they finally arrive – Piett assumes because he’s been guided through several doorways and Vader hasn’t followed them through the last one – it’s been at least twenty minutes. They’ve stopped and changed direction so much that he lost count of his footsteps a while back, but he’s kept a vague grasp on the duration of the trip.

It’s much quieter here, wherever they are. He stands there patiently, listening to the troopers move around him and enter door codes (by the sound of it). It also feels warmer; although that might be in part down to the long walk they’ve just taken.

The blindfold is removed, and Piett blinks his eyes a few times to adjust in the light.

It’s another cell, a few feet wider than the previous one and with a few additions. The door is a little taller and wider as the cell allows for it, and is of course now shut. The bench has a mattress set into it and there’s a folded blanket and a pillow resting neatly at the foot of that, along with what looks like another prison uniform. Over in the opposite corner is a glass partition, and a quick look at the ceiling reveals that it’s for a sonic shower.

While it’s by far a more welcome sight than the kinds of things he was imagining, he doesn’t let himself relax yet. He won’t bother to ask _where_ they are – that must have been at least some of the reasoning behind the blindfold – but he watches the troopers cautiously.

The one who took the blindfold away removes the binders from Piett’s wrists, as his partner keeps an eye and his blaster trained on them. Piett wishes their armour had even _one_ distinguishing feature to tell them apart. Even their voices are similar. It will be tricky to build up an understanding with his guards – if indeed the same two will stay with him – if he can’t. Distantly, he thinks it must be awfully depressing to work here.

“Do you want a shower?” asks the trooper bluntly, attaching the cuffs to his belt.

A little caught off guard, Piett nods. Before being captured he’d toyed with the idea of refusing food and possibly other necessities if he thought it might lend him some traction. But given all the unexpectedness, he’s ruled it out almost entirely. He may be useful, but he’s hardly Vader’s only hope of tempting Luke – and right now he does not feel it’s the time to push him. Also, he needs a clear head, and if he’s going to be here for a while he’d rather be comfortable.

The trooper backs up a step, and says, “Clothes.”

Of course ‘comfort’ is a relative term, Piett thinks dryly as he toes off his shoes and then starts unfastening his uniform. When he’s in just his vest and undershorts, the trooper points a small remote towards the refresher. The partition goes opaque, and to Piett’s relief he’s directed behind it to remove the rest of his clothes.

After handing his underwear over, the sonic shower starts up and Piett shifts around a bit to let the soft pulses travel all over him. Even with the screen between him and the troopers, he wants to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Still, it feels good to be clean. From all the stress of the last few hours he’s sweated rather a lot, and he still has no idea how much time has passed since his capture.

When he’s finished, he sees the trooper is holding out the fresh set of clothes from the bed.

“Excuse me,” he calls out as he pulls on the shorts. “What day is it?”

“Centaxday,” comes the short answer.

“And the time?”

The Stormtrooper huffs. “It’s the evening,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Thank you.”

Piett thinks he can hear the trooper fidgeting slightly, as though he found his politeness unnerving. Of course he might recognise the agenda behind it, or it conflicts with his perception of uncivilised rebel scum. Maybe he’s uncertain of exactly _how_ they’re supposed to behave towards this new prisoner. He hasn’t heard the guards say much to each other either; perhaps another sign of their discomfort around him, or they’ve been warned against it. Piett wonders if the two have even worked together before now.

He isn’t handed the uniform once he’s got the vest on. Instead, when he walks out from behind the partition he’s ordered to sit on the bed. As he does so, he catches sight of the small mirror above the basin. He knows that when he examines it closer the ‘glass’ will actually turn out to be transparisteel – the same as the refresher partition – and therefore unbreakable, and he feels a surge of renewed terror at how helpless he is.

He doesn’t feel any better when the door slides open and a silver 2-1B droid stomps in. Upon seeing it, he can’t stop his body from tensing. The droid stops about halfway into the room, and its head jerks up and down a few times as it looks at him, almost like it’s offended by his reaction.

“ – She needs to look at your leg,” says the trooper guarding the door, also having clocked his fear.

Piett blinks. The situation is almost laughable. A Stormtrooper reassuring a _rebel_ – more evidence that his guards are not entirely sure of how he should be treated. He isn’t panicking over nothing, however. Medi-droids tend to make the most natural torturers, and while he imagines Vader won’t want them to start without him it’s not unheard of for lower-ranking Imperials to take matters into their own hands.

The droid approaches and observes the patch on Piett’s thigh for a moment before extending its clawed attachment to peel it off. The sonic pulses have loosened it, and it comes away without any difficulty, but Piett winces slightly. The graze beneath is more red and swollen than he’d expected, and the cool sensation is a welcome relief as the droid gives it a light bacta spray and applies a new patch. Once that’s done, he can only bring himself to nod at the droid in thanks, still apprehensive under its beady, orange gaze.

He’s handed the clean uniform as the droid marches off towards the door and grabs up a sack with the worn uniform inside it. The door hisses as it opens, and then the droid walks through, shortly followed by the two guards. Alone again, Piett pulls on the orange jumpsuit and does a thorough sweep of his new cell. Disappointed but unsurprised when he doesn’t find anything, Piett heaves a sigh.

And so he waits.

And waits.

He paces up and down for a while; glad he can at least stretch his limbs out in here. He thinks over the last few days. Several close calls in the space of mere hours. Even before the Imperials found them, Luke could have _died_ in that blizzard – Jedi powers or none.

_You were right to dissuade him from seeking me out._

Luke is so unprepared – they are _all_ unprepared – and Piett doesn’t even know what for. On a ship of this size he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to sense cannon fire, and so he tells himself it’s useless worrying over whether they’ve caught up with the _Falcon_ yet.

It doesn’t actually _stop_ him fretting, though.

The next time the door opens is for dinner; a rather bland stew that is nevertheless hot and filling. The guards have also brought him a toothbrush, and after his meal one of them stands behind him as he uses it at the sink and then snatches it off him again like a schoolteacher might if they’d discovered a student with some sort of prank device.

He’s sure these _are_ the same two troopers he’s had from the beginning, and although they still don’t say enough to make it easy, he has discerned two separate personalities; one grumpy and the other not so grumpy.

Grumpy is the one who wouldn’t tell him the time and seems to think he’ll cause trouble if left with a small plastic toothbrush (which to be fair, Piett would certainly try if he was).

Not-So-Grumpy is the one who reassured him about the droid and is definitely more relaxed all round.

As usual, Piett thanks them both before they leave, and Grumpy gives a little shake of his head while the other seems unaffected. Piett watches them go, and then prepares the bed before lying down, curling up under the blanket.

~

The morning brings a couple of surprises – a change of guards being the first – and the opportunity to shave being the second. The razor blades are short and embedded into the head in such a way that it would be basically useless as any kind of weapon. Still, it’s sharp enough for shaving, and – of course – they’ll take it back from him once he’s done. The trooper who stands by is a woman with a distinctively no-nonsense kind of voice, and he can tell that the one guarding the door is a much younger man. He seems to watch her more than he does Piett, like he’s eager to follow in her example.

Piett just gets on with it like everything’s normal, and when he thanks the female guard she nods back at him confidently. _She_ , he’s convinced, has a good idea of how Vader wants him to be handled.

Vader himself arrives maybe an hour after Piett’s eaten breakfast. Piett, who was doing more of his pacing, watches from beside the refresher as the man sweeps in through the door. Piett’s hoping to be told some news, although he’s also afraid of what he might hear.

“I wish to discuss Skywalker,” says Vader instead, when the door shuts and they’re completely alone together.

Piett’s feels his heart sink. He is _not_ willing to give details about Luke, but if he says anything along the lines of “you’ll have to make me” Vader will do exactly that. And he will most likely succeed. He stares at the Sith lord miserably.

“This needn’t be difficult, Piett. All I want are further details. Your emotional responses to my questions will reveal enough, so you may as well talk.”

Piett isn’t comforted. Vader is the kind of man to exploit any weakness in a person, and he could trick him – could simply hazard guesses about Luke until they’re confirmed. “If that’s the case why do you want me to say anything?” he asks. “Why don’t you just take whatever it is you’re after?”

“Because it is your _opinion_ I want. I wish to know your feelings about everything, and I would prefer to hear them from your lips.”

Piett swallows. He thinks of all the interrogation training he went through, but what is the procedure if your captor will get most of the information anyway? How valuable is his opinion – could it give Vader some sort of hold over him and the others? Short of sitting with his fingers in his ears whenever Vader visits and trying to keep his mind closed, he can’t think of how to resist his questioning. And besides, if he did that it really _would_ look like he has something to hide after all.

“Think of this as a negotiation,” Vader continues silkily. “I am sure that when your friends are captured you will want to be well-rehearsed in the practice.”

Piett glares at him, and Vader’s mask glints, catching the light as he moves slightly.

“There, you _can_ express yourself.” Piett can hear the smirk in his voice. “Very good.” He holds out a gloved hand, indicating for Piett to sit upon the bed. “Come. Speak with me.”

Piett looks at his large hand, reminded of stories about people choking where they stood for no apparent reason.

Vader tries again. “I _know_ you have questions of your own. Perhaps together we can find answers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your responses everyone! I know this is a slow start - it is essentially a prison fic but stuff may change later >>
> 
> More Vader in the next part too!


	4. Questioning

Piett takes a seat on the bed, conscious of the way Vader’s filtered breaths reverberate around the room. He takes the opportunity to look him over again, afraid yet curious of what Vader will ask him.

“My sources traced Skywalker’s origin to Tatooine,” says Vader finally. “I know that there he was raised by his aunt and uncle, Owen and Beru Lars.”

It’s a simple enough start, and with Luke’s family deceased Piett feels untroubled by nodding.

“Was he cared for?”

The question is unexpected, and Piett’s mind quickly jumps to conclusions; that Vader might try to offer Luke some kind of twisted affection through this mentorship he hopes to share with him, or simply reel him in with material luxuries.

“Yes,” he says pointedly. “He always spoke fondly of his childhood.”

Vader nods. “And when he’d grown, was he still content with them?”

Piett opens his mouth to answer, but then falters.

“I can feel that this is a sensitive matter. Tell me.”

Piett licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “My understanding is that he hoped to get into the Academy, but his uncle insisted he stay on at the farm. Luke obeyed and put off applying at least twice... but at the time he... felt he was being held back.”

“I see. And now that Lars is dead the boy feels guilty.”

Piett hesitates again. He can see Luke now; staring at the ground, so lost and desperate for some reassurance. Piett understood; he’s been in a similar enough position himself. A kind of sickly dread creeps over him. Does Vader mean to torment Luke with this; make him feel responsible for what happened? Or is he seeking out whatever difficulties there might have been between Luke and his family with the intention of exploiting them – trying to utilise his anger at them? Luke is strong – he isn’t predisposed towards hatred but Piett knows that would cut him deeply.

“What was your response when he told you this?” Vader presses.

“I told him it’s not uncommon to feel guilt when a loved one dies, more so if the relationship was strained. I explained that despite everything his aunt and uncle most likely understood his frustration, and that he mustn’t blame himself for wanting more from life, and certainly not for their deaths.” As Piett speaks he feels his tone sharpen – so defensive is he of Luke that it bleeds into his answer.

Vader’s answer is full of knowing. “No doubt he found comfort in your words.”

“I made sure to remind him that his family were not killed in some easily-avoidable accident. They were brutally murdered, and he would have gone the same way if he’d been home at the time.”

“And yet fate led him elsewhere.”

Piett silently fumes, and not just on Luke’s behalf. For three years he’s wanted the Empire to realise that their last major setback was entirely _their_ fault; that had they stopped and shown just an ounce of patience they could have taken the droids, kept their valuable plans and had it all by now. Still, he holds his tongue. Vader clearly sees things very differently, and Piett is quite certain that ‘fate’ and ‘the Force’ are closely entwined – possibly even the same entity – in his eyes. He’s only really experienced the Force by watching Luke determinately (and sometimes a little clumsily) wielding it. It’s odd being faced with someone he knows is a master, but who also clearly has absolute faith in it. Furthermore his comment implies that he believes Luke was _supposed_ to survive, in which case, Piett’s confused.

“You may ask your question,” Vader states calmly.

Piett flinches, remembering that whatever he feels, Vader can too. He takes another moment to think before speaking. “If you believe that destiny and – the Force protected Luke that day... does that also mean you believe it led to the destruction of the Death Star?”

Vader inclined his head. “The will of the Force is curious.”

Piett is taken aback. He thought Vader would deny that part; that the idea would be an insult too far against Imperial power. “...But it was _your_ great weapon.”

“The Death Star was a vanity project, and largely irrelevant to me. In the course of things it proved itself to be every bit as vulnerable as I predicted.”

For a moment, Piett glimpses Leia’s tear-streaked face; the rage in her dark eyes echoing that of hundreds – _thousands_ – of others. “It destroyed billions of lives.”

“And Skywalker destroyed it in turn. I never denied its artillery uses and it played its part in events that will continue to lead him to me. But in the end it was not indestructible – just another man-made tool.”

Piett doesn’t understand. Does the dark lord _really_ believe this is all a part of something much bigger or is he... slightly mad?

Vader points at him. “You may not be aware of it, but _all_ of us have our place within the Force. _Nothing_ can match its power. Not even the Death Star.” He sounds rather angry, probably having caught the tail end of Piett’s thoughts.

  
“...You defended it,” says Piett carefully.

“And I failed. Skywalker obliterated it as you distracted me. You both succeeded – the Force was with you both that day, although I do not undermine your talents by saying this. You are quite the strategist, Piett.”

Breaking their eye contact, Piett shifts awkwardly beneath the praise.

“Come now. It was your mastermind behind dozens of the Rebellion’s successes. Without you I estimate it would have taken them twice as long to cross the Outer Rim.”

Piett doesn’t want to believe that this man has been aware of him for so long – that each time they’ve missed each other by barely a few minutes, miles, hours – Vader has sensed it. Recognised him without even seeing him. Not for the first time, he feels a strange prickling beneath his skin that is slightly too familiar for his liking.

Vader stares for a few moments longer, and then changes the subject. “Incidentally, how did young Skywalker cope after Yavin? Was there any remorse on his part?”

Piett shrugs, willing to be distracted. “If he hadn’t taken the shot we would all have been killed.”

“And it was just as simple to him?”

“Of course not. We talked about it a few times. Occasionally he was troubled by it, sometimes just curious about the knock-on effect of his actions.”

“Is that how you grew close; he came to you for counsel?”

“I suppose so.”

“No - You sought him out first.”

“...He’s so young. I was concerned for him.”

Luke is no child, Piett knows that, but three years ago he’d just barely come into adulthood. Inevitably, after all the adrenaline, joy and relief wore off, reality started to come crashing down around the young man. Nightmares and self-doubt plagued him, and it was the same with Leia. Even her hardened manner could not sustain under the weight of everything she'd lost. At first Piett kept an eye on the two separately, ready to console or advise, or take over work if either one needed their privacy. But soon, Luke and Leia started to gravitate towards each other for moments of peace and quiet. Even Solo must have been worried – he’d actually given up his posturing and leave the two youngsters alone; comprehending – for once – that this was not the time.

“Ah, you took on the girl, too. You must have been quite in demand.”

He startles out of a light daze at Vader’s voice. This conversation had started to feel almost like it was taking place within a dream; where you didn’t remember how or when it began. Somehow, despite his terrifying aura, Vader is a compelling presence.

“ – I...” Piett begins to speak without really knowing what it is he wants to say. His throat is dry now too, although he doesn’t think he’s said all that much. Maybe he’s just out of practice.

Vader turns smoothly on his heel and walks to the door. When it opens, he does not move, but addresses someone just beyond. “Bring water.”

“Yes, sir,” says a voice from outside. The younger Stormtrooper from before, Piett thinks.

He hears footsteps leading away; the hiss of another door opening somewhere. The entryway to his cell remains open, and Piett can just about make out some sort of antechamber beyond. This is almost certainly a private area, whereas the previous one where he was kept had appeared to be an actual prison block.

There’s a definite smugness in Vader’s countenance as he turns back to him, like he’s deliberately taunting Piett by keeping the door open.

Piett imagines for a moment what would happen if he just... ran for it. Of course Vader would stop him, but how? Would he hold Piett there with the Force – pinning him before he could even stand? Would he grab him with his hands? Or would he let him get close and then strike him – even cut him down with the sabre so he paid for his attempt with a limb or two?

It’s not long before the guard returns. Piett only glimpses his hand holding the paper cup aloft, and then to his – and by the looks of it the trooper’s – surprise Vader takes the cup and the door comes close to shutting on the trooper’s foot.

The cup looks almost laughably small and precarious in Vader’s hand. He holds it from the top, like somebody might with a glass of something much stronger. As he approaches, Piett is briefly reminded of watching some children on Dantooine trying to carry bubbles for as long as possible without making them burst. He pushes that thought firmly away in case the next thing Vader decides to grip is his throat. He reaches out, trying to hold his own hand steady when he takes it. The leather of Vader’s glove just brushes his fingers and he blinks at the sensation. The eyes of Vader’s mask seem to watch him intently.

He busies himself by taking a sip of water and averting his eyes while Vader mercifully takes a step back. “Thank you,” he mutters after swallowing.

Vader inclines his head in acknowledgement. “In my visit to Tatooine I discovered that Obi-Wan Kenobi lived not far away from the Lars family farm, but evidently they did not socialise.”

Piett cradles the cup in his lap, giving his own nod. He’s not exactly shocked to hear Vader went to Luke’s home planet personally, but he hopes no innocent civilians died for it. This subject is going to be a tricky one. As well as grieving for Kenobi – ‘Ben’ as the boy calls him – Luke remains frustrated by the old man’s absence; at finding out so much about his father in one go but not _enough_ , and then his one chance of knowing more being swiftly crushed. Piett bites his lip. He certainly has opinions on the old man. “...Luke said his uncle always disliked Kenobi,” he replies after Vader doesn’t say anything else. “Called him crazy, and instructed Luke not to approach or speak to him.”

Vader raises his head slightly, as though considering Piett’s words. “I cannot fault Lars for that. Why do you suppose he did this?”

Piett feels strange again. Vader must have picked up on his emotions when Kenobi was brought up, but there was something about the way he’d spoken Lars’s name just now... Of course, Piett never met either of these men and so he’s likely just projecting onto every little nuance in Vader’s voice. “To protect him,” he states distractedly. “He knew _something_ of Kenobi’s association with Luke’s father – how much I can’t say.”

“Protect him from what? What do you think he knew?”

“He wanted to keep him out of danger.” Piett looks Vader up and down. “He wanted to protect him from the kinds of things that have happened in the last three years. Of course he may not have been aware of all the facts, but I’m sure he did most of it because Luke didn’t even know his last name until Kenobi told him.” Piett stops again. All of his old doubts have risen to the surface.

“You have another question. Go on.”

“Did you really kill Luke’s father?”

There’s a beat, during which Piett's heart flutters beneath his ribcage, and then Vader says, “I destroyed the Jedi known as Anakin Skywalker.” There’s that air of satisfaction about him again, and Piett’s thoughts churn unpleasantly around in his head.

“You don’t share Luke's faith in Obi-Wan Kenobi, then?”

Piett blinks. Vader doesn’t usually refer to Luke by his first name, and it’s jarring to hear it. “Like I said, I didn’t know him.”

“And yet you doubted his story about Skywalker was true.”

At that, Piett takes another sip of water. “...Kenobi knowing all of this – being Skywalker’s great friend but having no contact with Luke’s family... it seems very odd. As if the Lars’s didn’t trust him.”

He feels guilty for saying it, but it’s almost a relief to voice his misgivings after all this time. Luke plainly grew to adore Kenobi within the short few days they spent together. Piett supposes it’s because the old man was the boy’s only direct connection with his father, which he can certainly appreciate, but to trust the old man’s word implicitly... has not come quite so easy to him. Luke was obviously _not_ pleased the last time he voiced his concerns, and more recently he worried that if he tried again Luke might just think he has some sort of weird parental jealousy going on. The two of them are now closer than Luke and Kenobi had ever been, but of course Piett knows nothing of Anakin Skywalker or the Jedi.

Vader interrupts his thoughts. “But something else made you question Kenobi’s claims.”

“...The light sabre,” Piett murmurs.

“Yes?”

“It’s not something I’m well-informed of, but – it keeps bothering me.”

“Go on.”

“In so many cultures it’s common for the victor to take or destroy their enemy’s weapon. Sometimes it’s more instinct – trophy value. I don’t know anything about the Jedi or the Sith, but it still seems odd to me that _Kenobi_ wound up with his weapon and you didn’t.”

There's another loaded pause. “You suspected _he_ killed Skywalker?”

Piett hesitates. Vader sounds interested – almost pleased – where Piett had thought he might be _offended;_ having a conquest speculated over or attributed to someone else. “Not... exactly.”

“But you question the old man’s intentions.”

Again, Piett stops to think. If Vader was trying to manipulate Luke into empathising with his own views, specifically over Kenobi’s, was it possible he might try testing it out on him first? He frowns at Vader. “If he wanted Luke dead he would have killed him a long time ago. I just wonder if – if there’s a bit more to the story. Even you seem... confused that Kenobi would live close by him for so long, with his father’s weapon, and not force the issue.”

Vader bows his head. “Have you told Skywalker your reservations?”

“...Yes.”

“I take it he wasn’t quite as susceptible to them?”

Piett _really_ doesn’t want to remember the one argument he had with Luke about all of this. “Why not just read my mind?” he snaps.

“It’s not quite so pedestrian as that, Commander – but if you _insist.”_ Vader suddenly advances on him, his hand outstretched.

“No!” Piett scrambles back in alarm, knocking the cup off his lap and onto the floor. Before he can even stand or raise a fist, Vader seizes him.

Vader’s left hand holds Piett’s arm against the wall beside his head. The other reaches up to Piett’s forehead, and Piett bites back a yell of fear. Vader isn’t hurting him, but his grip is a _vice_. Piett has no chance of breaking free. Up close the mask is no less horrifying; the mechanical breaths seem harsher, deeper. Piett doesn’t want to look, but something catches his attention – the faintest glint from behind the dark lenses, where Vader’s eyes glare back at him.

“Is this what you really want?” growls Vader, voice now startlingly loud.

“No,” Piett repeats in a small voice, recoiling.

Vader lowers the hand from Piett’s temple and takes Piett’s chin firmly between forefinger and thumb. “Then _continue_. Tell me your concerns about Kenobi.”

Shaking, Piett finds enough courage to give a final, insistent push at Vader’s chest. It has little effect of course, but Vader seems to understand he’s making a request he can’t voice. He moves away, and Piett realises he was kneeling on the edge of the bench. He keeps an eye on the Sith lord until he’s taken a few steps back, enough that he feels he can breathe again. He thinks he spies a momentary hint – an uncertain pause in Vader’s gait – like the man suspects he may have gone too far – but that’s stupid, Piett knows. Vader’s done far worse to his own officers than mere intimidation.

There’s about a minute or two of silence. Vader doesn’t step away from his new spot, and he doesn’t make any demands, either.

Finally, Piett’s heart rate slows, and he gives a small cough to clear his throat. “I-It’s not that I doubt Kenobi’s _every_ word.”

Vader’s only encouragement this time is to remain silent.

“It’s simply that... knowing what happened to Anakin Skywalker – I can’t help feeling it was irresponsible of him to give Luke his name and weapon... without _warning_ him about using them publically. They weren’t together long, I know, but...” Piett shuts his eyes, and shakes his head. “Maybe he wasn’t quite right in the head, after all.”

“Or?” says Vader.

Piett looks at him. “Or maybe he had his own plans for Luke.”

The tension in the room seems to diffuse somewhat. Although he remains still, satisfaction practically _radiates_ from Vader. If Piett had to guess he’d say the man was _delighted_.

What has he done, thinks Piett? He’s let himself be manipulated... except he already thought those things, didn’t he? He’s simply confessed them. “Why do you want to train him?” he asks suddenly. “What do you want from him?”

“Skywalker is wasted on the Rebellion,” answers Vader, sounding like he’s still deep in thought. “For him to have gone untrained this long is an abomination.”

“Then Kenobi wasn’t helping you?”

At that Vader rounds on him again, and Piett jerks back. “Kenobi was _nothing_ to me.” The man relaxes again. “Although I understand your confusion – his carelessness is ultimately what revealed Luke’s identity.”

There it was again – Vader calling Luke by his given name. Piett shivers. He doesn’t want the boy faced with this monster. Whatever’s going on – he’s sure it will bring suffering.

“He has anger,” rumbles Vader.

Piett swallows. “ – Yes.”

“Good.”

Piett doesn’t like the way Vader speaks. It feels as though he’s twisted Luke in his mind into something he isn’t. Something he could never be. Not for the first time, he feels a surge of longing to be in Luke’s company – to talk to him – to be laughing with him, Leia, and the others. “You won’t buy him,” he says.

“While I’m informed on the Alliance’s pathetic resources, there are _other_ things that will appeal to him.”

“Nothing will turn him against his friends. He’s not like that.”

“Why, Commander, you _have_ grown attached. I’m surprised you do not have a family of your own.”

Bitterness courses through Piett at those words. “I didn’t feel the _urge_ to bring a child into this galaxy.” It’s a direct slight against the Empire, and he doesn’t care.

Vader simply nods. “Sound reasoning, although have you considered that if you’d chosen a different path such things may not have been so unpalatable to you?”

Piett knows what he’s getting at. He thinks of all the Imperial officers he’s encountered; some cruel, some weak, and most probably not so very unlike himself. “No.”

“How can you be so sure? Perhaps if things were different you would not be so hasty in your answer.”

“Different?” Piett repeats incredulously.

“I can see it is hard for you to imagine, but you won’t have to for much longer. The Empire is about to undergo a few changes.”

Piett nearly laughs. What Vader just said is tantamount to treason. People disappear for saying things like that – publically, anyway.

“What has that got to do with Luke?”

Vader gives a small tilt of his head. “If you remain cooperative, you will find out.”

The door opens, making Piett jump.

“I thank you for your time, Commander, but my presence is required on the bridge. I look forward to our next discussion.” With that, Vader stalks out through the door.

The two Stormtroopers come in just to clear away the paper cup and spilled water, and when they finally leave, Piett does what he’s wanted to do since Vader entered. He takes the blanket from the bed into his hands, and wraps it around himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone reading! Hope you like it <3<3


	5. Reasoning

Piett spends the rest of the week largely alone because Vader does not return, a fact that gradually starts to wear at his composure. By the end of the third night he thinks that if the Sith lord was telling the truth the _Falcon_ must have been found by now, with everyone on board being interrogated. It is the best explanation for his captor’s absence – having seemed so eager to spend time with him previously. Thinking about it makes him almost sick with worry, but he reasons with himself that Vader’s intentions _seem_ to be to keep everyone alive – for how long and on what terms, he can only guess depends on if and when Luke appears.

He often wonders what the young man is doing. He hopes that it’s safe. Hopes that whatever called him away was friendly. Hopes it’s far away from the Empire’s reach.

As the week comes to a close he begins to fear the worst. What if Vader hasn’t returned because he has already succeeded? While Piett likes to think he would sense Luke’s presence if he was close – that had happened before when the boy somehow reached out to him – Vader might have ways of stifling a communication attempt between them.

If that is the case, Piett knows his negotiation plans may need to change slightly. With Luke captured Vader’s reasons to delay hurting the rest of them will be lessened, but not eliminated completely. The strongest argument Piett has is Luke himself; the young man won’t be inclined to show Vader empathy with his friends at risk, and Vader will need that if he expects any long-term cooperation.

While he believes Vader will visit him sooner rather than later if he has successfully lured Luke out, there could be any number explanations why he hasn’t yet. Luke could be trapped but not yet captured, or leading a merry but futile chase around the galaxy. He could be seriously injured, and if he dies they all die – Piett thinks he will be glad to if that happens – _unless_ he can think of some way to escape and free the others.

Piett frets himself into an uneasy sleep for nearly five nights in a row, and in the meantime grows used to the routine with his guards. His fears make him quiet and subdued, and he often comes back to reality to find the troopers – even Grumpy – leaning in to check on him, clearly worried about their charge getting sick or mad in their custody.

The one good thing about being here is that it isn’t Hoth, where sometimes the urge to throw caution to wind and throw himself face first into the cumbersome and expensive bacta tank had been overwhelming. This cell is definitely warmer than the previous, and daily exercise and his blanket provide the rest of the heat he sometimes needs.

On the fourth day he’s given a datapad, which has some light reading material – mostly Empire-approved history – and helps the days pass just a little quicker when he’s not in a complete daze. Upon receiving it he’s warned that they’re keeping a close eye on him, and each evening it’s removed when they bring in his supper. He’s inclined to tell them not to bother; the datapad is protected and sealed all over with some hardened, rubbery texture he would struggle to break into even with tools at his disposal, but he says nothing. He remains obedient – taking his shower and shaving every other day, and sits still during the occasional visit from the Medi-droid. The only thing he dares to do each morning is ask the date, time, or if they know whether his friends have been caught yet.

Each time he gets more or less what amounts to, “We are not authorised to share that information.”

He’s tempted to get one of them to pass on a message to Vader – a plea to spare Leia at the very least – but that could make things worse; will only further reveal his desperation and he’s _not_ about to willingly provide Vader with any amusement. The anxiety is hellish, but at the end of the week after asking for another update Not-So-Grumpy says to him, “You know, maybe you should take this as a case of no news is good news?”

Grumpy angrily hushes his partner, but it does help to lift Piett’s misery just ever so slightly. The implication is that Leia, Han, Chewie and the droids _haven’t_ been caught yet, and while he knows he’s in no less danger, he finds he appreciates the attempt at calming him. With virtually no human interaction or change of scenery the last few days he finds it is getting to him, and he immediately shuts down the horrifying thought that _this_ might be the fate intended for him by Vader.

But his good behaviour is not entirely because of some involuntary response to his fears.

On the sixth day in his new cell, he spills some water onto the paper plate as he’s eating lunch. His guards oblige him by thinking it’s an accident, and they pay him no mind as he mops up the spillage with a towel they’ve handed him. With one side of the plate saturated, it makes barely a sound as he tears some paper away and sticks it up his sleeve. He has no plan for this yet. But it’s something; one piece of material that he might be able to use at a later date.

When he’s finished eating he folds the plate in half as he always does before placing it on the tray, with the torn side down so it’s concealed. When no angry questions come in the following hour or so, he assumes it went unnoticed.

Finally, a couple of days after that Vader marches back into his cell, looking for all the world as if these are _his_ quarters as he starts up his pacing back and forth again.

Piett sits up on the bunk impatiently, and then hesitates. His last encounter with Vader is still fresh in his mind. The Sith lord can move so _fast_ despite his size – what might he have done if Piett hadn’t conceded? The physical contact may have been for show; he isn’t sure if proximity lends anything to Force-related abilities, but would he have attempted to prize his mind completely open somehow? Would it have hurt? Would he have killed him if he was angry enough?

When Vader doesn’t even announce himself, Piett wastes no more time. “You said you were closing in on the _Falcon_ ,” he says, licking his lips nervously.

Vader pauses and throws him an unfazed look – one that Piett can only interpret through his movements and not his expression which is hidden behind the mask – and answers casually, “It seems your friends have evaded capture for the time being.”

Piett nearly laughs in exhausted relief as he slumps back against the wall. They got away. _They got_ _away_. He prays Solo knows where he’s taking them – or that Leia will know a place they can lay low for a bit. Vader just stands there, no anger obvious but also no discernable mood either, and the elation doesn’t remain with Piett for long. “...You don’t seem terribly bothered,” he says.

“They will be caught, and I have already dealt with those responsible.”

Piett’s stomach jolts uncomfortably. “...Does that mean they’re dead?”

“Yes.”

Not for the first time, Piett feels a reluctant swell of pity for the nameless officers. What were you really fighting for, he wonders, if the very people you represented just killed you anyway? “You should go easier on your men,” he remarks, not really sure if he should. “Han is a skilled pilot.”

“That is no excuse. But in any case, their failures only belied their true loyalties.”

Piett watches him, interested despite his fear. “You think they lost them on purpose?”

“They held no faith in my authority, nor indeed in the Force. I’ve long been aware that many of my men do not believe in my cause, but the most recent losses made the mistake of thinking it negotiable.”

Ah, thinks Piett. This is about Luke again. “But don’t you select your own crew?”

Vader begins pacing once more, seeming rather pleased with himself. “I now have.”

Piett nods. That confirms that Vader’s actions have not been entirely on the blessing of the Emperor. “ – I see.”

On an about-turn - cape sweeping impressively - Vader looks at him. “Did you expect me to be lenient?”

“Not exactly. Less wasteful.”

Vader emits a small, peculiar noise at that – Piett thinks it might have been a _scoff_. “A rebel would think that. Were you to execute every incompetent member you’d have none left but you, Skywalker and the princess.”

Piett gazes at him. The insult to the Alliance was hardly odd coming from an Imperial, but the irritation in Vader’s tone strikes him as so. He shakes his head. “Isn’t that giving me too much credit? _I_ got caught, remember?”

“Not accidentally.”

“...Kind of accidentally. I was expecting to be killed.”

Vader comes to a stand still, pointing at him in that typical way of his. “You speak of my being wasteful, and yet you allowed your talents to be _squandered_ by the Rebellion. You would be a valuable asset to me.”

“To you?” asks Piett, jumping on his words. “Not to the Empire?” Vader does not respond, and so after a few moments he shrugs and says, “Unfortunately my loyalty _to_ the Rebellion makes that impossible.”

“To the Rebellion?”

There it is again, Vader shining doubt on his allegiances. Piett can admit he hasn’t been happy with how things have been going for a while; since Vrogas Vas the fleet has become overstretched, and while Hoth was an effective hiding place it was also a rather miserable one. The intention was that it would function as a temporary base, not a long-standing retreat, and things have been difficult on them all. But none of those things mean he’s lost faith in the cause – that he would abandon it for _anything_.

“I am not so naïve as to think you would defect,” says Vader knowingly, “but I think there is something that comes far and away before the Alliance for you. I think – were you given the choice – Skywalker and the girl would take precedence.”

Piett actually laughs at that. “Luke and Leia _are_ the Rebellion.”

“Luke knows nothing else. He will learn the true ways of the Force and fulfil his destiny by my side.”

Shaking his head again, Piett stops smiling abruptly. “Vader, don’t you understand? The Empire destroyed people Luke loved without a chance to defend themselves – and any hate he feels is topped by the fact that he _loves_ intensely. Even if you hadn’t killed Kenobi yourself you represent everything he reviles; _everything_ he will fight against.”

Vader gives a small tilt of the head. “But he will _fight_.”

Piett sighs. Vader always seems as though he is trying to _convince_ him where he really shouldn't waste energy. “Whatever secrets you have – whatever it is you believe will tempt him, surely you realise it’s still not going to be that easy?”

“He will give in – he will have no choice.”

Piett’s heart clenches. What the hell does Vader intend to do to Luke that he thinks he wouldn’t have a _choice?_ Does this concern what will happen to Piett and the others? His voice shakes as he speaks. “Luke knows his own mind.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s the same age as Leia. _Exactly_ the same age, in fact.” Piett feels a deep longing as he recalls a day some months after Yavin when Luke had suddenly realised it was his birthday, and Leia had remarked – in a rare show of youthful excitement – that they were only a few days apart on the intergalactic calendar, meaning that they could well have shared the _same_ birthday if they’d been born on the same planet. Not only that but they were both due to turn twenty that year. It probably accounts for the eerie synchronicity the two sometimes share. Piett has never previously believed in star signs and whatnot, but he considers that perhaps such things might hold relevance in the Force after all.

His melancholy increases as he remembers more – Han telling Luke off for not letting him know it was his birthday in advance, and then they’d all later surprised him and Leia with a small celebration in the _Falcon_. He comes back to himself and looks over at Vader, who has gone very still.

“Yes,” says Vader finally, softer than Piett has heard before. “I must confess I did not know her age.”

Piett shivers, his own voice gone quiet too. “You didn’t seem to think she was _mislead_ when you scheduled her for execution.”

“That particular honour was Tarkin’s, and there were differences. Skywalker was raised on a Tatooine moisture farm while _she_ was well-informed of how the galaxy is run even then. Bail Organa saw to that.”

Piett’s temper flares. “She was a _child_.”

“She knew her own mind... as you so adamantly insist Skywalker does.” Despite his words, Vader’s voice is still low and curious. “She was never a primary concern of mine, but maybe you’re right, Piett. Perhaps she ought to have been.”

Swallowing, Piett stands up. He’d meant to convince Vader of Luke’s devotion to Leia – to appeal to any remaining mercy on Vader’s part using the man’s own purposes – _not_ to steer her directly into the limelight. “So that you can torment her even more?”

“Always anticipating torture, Piett. Am I still so very predictable to you – or does this terror of yours come from experience?”

Piett flinches.

“If it will comfort you I merely wish to ask the girl some questions.”

That makes Piett shoot him a withering look. “You wish to _comfort_ me?”

“I wish for us to collaborate.” Piett frowns as Vader looks up and down the length of his body. “How is your injury?”

“ – Healed.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Distracted momentarily, Piett shakes his head. “...You want us to work together to bring Luke here?”

“Correct.”

“That could be a very long collaboration.”

“I mean it to be. The boy will come – soon – and then there is work to be done.”

Taking a step forward, Piett glares up at him. “You cannot possibly believe he will join you willingly, and I won’t assist in _anything_ that hurts him.”

“Again with your misgivings, Piett. Has it not occurred to you that I have things to _offer?_ Both of you?”

Piett raises an eyebrow disinterestedly. “Such as?”

“Security. Power.” It’s Piett’s turn to scoff, and Vader’s voice raises just a fraction. “I would not waste oxygen lying to you over this. In time – with trust – I would grant you more than you could possibly dream of.”

It is a lie – it must be, but Piett feels his skin prickling at the intensity of Vader’s tone. “I don’t dream of _power.”_

Vader steps towards him, shadowing the smaller man completely as he takes Piett’s chin in his gloved hand. “You long for a better, fairer galaxy, as do I. Power will gift you the means to make that a reality. And your input would be valuable beyond estimation to me.”

The touch is gentle, the words serious, but Piett tenses beneath both, saying nothing. It’s perhaps the strangest tactic Vader has employed to try and get him to oblige. Nevertheless he _is_ convincing. Piett had assumed he would only use violence, but now he wonders if Vader has seduced many people to his will. But the proposition – while vague – is no less ridiculous, and he thinks about suggesting the man look to Leia for political influence instead, and then the memory of the last time she was brought up makes him think again.

Vader gives another tilt of the head. His fingers flex delicately on Piett’s jaw, and then he releases him, leaving the other man's skin tingling. “I see you’re still afraid for the princess. Tell me – how is her relationship with Skywalker?”

“...Very close. Although they are not together as some think.”

Vader goes still again. “No?” he says, sounding rather odd at that moment – almost troubled.

Piett pauses. With anyone else he might want to lie and state Luke and Leia _are_ involved like that – to emphasise his affection for her – but there is no point with Vader. “I think Luke was certainly... _dazzled_ by her when they met but – I don’t _believe_ they have ever been romantically attached.”

“...She chose to go with the smuggler.”

“Yes. I think – _they_ are. Certainly Solo – Han, is interested.” The whole situation is rather tiresome in Piett’s opinion, but given his care for Leia he’s been compelled to take notice. While she _is_ frequently annoyed by Solo, he has seen the looks shared between them – and sometimes just on her side alone – when she thought no one was looking. And no matter his opinion, nor Solo’s complaints about being suckered into their predicament against his will, the smuggler has proven himself loyal many times. “I’m not entirely clear on it myself. But there are no major difficulties between him and Luke because of it. In fact...” He stops again, and Vader finishes the sentence for him.

“Skywalker and Solo are also... _fond_ of each other.”

“Very much so. If me and Leia aren’t worrying about Luke the chances are Han _is_.”

“You... suspect a romantic inclination between those two?”

“I – I _did_.” Piett exhaled wearily. “I – it’s not something I’m _certain_ of. Han and Leia I believe so. Luke, I cannot say for sure either way.”

It’s perfectly true – given the awkwardness of the whole thing it could have gotten very ugly very quickly, but Luke never actively pursued Leia or Han in the end. And Han’s clear affection for Leia is matched only by his utter devotion to Luke – just look at the way he ran out into the blizzard on Hoth to save him – without _question_. Whatever the case, there doesn't seem to be any hard feelings between the three, and if there are, Piett is still certain they are mostly between Han and Leia than _either_ of them and Luke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this bit - got distracted! I really hope you enjoyed this new part - poor Piett. And poor Vader when you think about it :P


End file.
